


Running

by RadioactiveDeLorean



Series: Guilty Ford [3]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Angst, Grunkle Ford Has Issues, Grunkle Ford Needs A Hug, Guilt, Guilty Ford, Poor Ford :(, Self-Destruction, Self-Hatred, Stan is a Protective Twin, Stangst, Starvation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-10-16 11:11:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10570107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RadioactiveDeLorean/pseuds/RadioactiveDeLorean
Summary: Ford believes that the town - and more importantly, his brother - would be better off without him around. He just ruins everything. He's overwhelmed by all of his past mistakes. He can't bear the thought of being a burden any longer, so he runs off into the woods. Stan goes to find him, certain his brother was taken by something. When he finds Ford, Stan realises just how broken his brother really is.Based off theGuilty Ford AUbySkaleigha on Tumblr





	

**Author's Note:**

> I was having [this discussion ](http://radioactivedelorean.tumblr.com/post/159222312365/angst-ford-convinced-that-everyone-in-the-town)with [ a-million-chromatic-dreams on Tumblr ](http://a-million-chromatic-dreams.tumblr.com/) the other day, and then started writing, and then kept writing, so this happened.

“Come on, Grunkle Stan! You love pancakes! Don’t you remember, you called them ‘Stancakes’?”

“No, I d- yeah, yeah I did, didn’t I? Ha! Yeah!”

Ford stood just behind his bedroom door, listening to the conversation going on in the kitchen down the hall. Something sunk into the pit of his stomach, making him feel hollow yet crushed at the same time. He listened as his brother and the two young twins chatted and laughed together. He listened as the kids explained things to Stanley, as his brother gradually began to remember more and more. He covered his mouth with a hand and took a step away from the door, sitting down carefully on the sofa running along one wall of his room. His fingers tugged at his hair, his eyes burning with unshed tears.

This was his fault. His brother, his best friend since birth, was sitting in the other room struggling to remember his life story. Ford knew just how upsetting this was for the kids. They had spent the entire summer making so many wonderful (and sometimes scary) memories with their Grunkle Stan and now he could barely remember a thing. All their work, all their time spent together had nearly been lost completely. This was all Ford’s fault. Ford had noticed that the longer he was around, the more danger arose and the more Stanley seemed to be angry, the kids seemed miserable. Of course, he didn’t know what the twins were like before he’d returned, but he could only assume that they’d been much happier.

It didn’t take a genius to work out that the main - and only - cause of the children’s misery was Ford himself. All Ford had to do was simply recall everything he’d done since coming back through the portal. First, he’d punched Stanley in the face, an action which got the ball rolling. After Stan had worked so hard to get Ford back, he’d been repaid with a sharp blow to the jaw, delivered by the very man he’d been trying to save. Then, he’d been cold and hostile towards his brother. He’d told Stanley to leave as soon as the kids went home. Ford had made the decision to kick his brother out, repeating the very thing their father did all those years ago back in New Jersey. Not only that, but he would be taking away Stan’s only source of income at the same time. The only reason Stan had stayed alive this long was by turning Ford’s home into a tourist attraction in order to make enough money to survive. And Ford was going to take that away.

After that, Ford had generally given Stan the cold shoulder, not being anywhere near as thankful and appreciative as he should have been, considering the lengths Stan went to to get him back. Faking his own _death_ , for crying out loud! That had been to get the gangs off his back so he could work safely, knowing he wasn’t a wanted man any more. Ford could now see why that was an incredibly intelligent thing to do. By faking his own death, the gangs would think he was dead and wouldn’t bother looking for him any more. It effectively wiped Stan from their radar.

Ford had ignored the kids to begin with, too. His nephew Dipper was fascinated with his work and Ford had treated him as a silly child with silly fantasies. He hadn’t spent any time with them, despite the fact that they were the family he never knew he had. He’d flat-out ignored the fact that the kid - and his sister too - had come across the majority of the monsters he’d cataloged in his journals and they’d come out unscathed. He didn’t even stop to consider that they were both more than capable of handling whatever Gravity Falls threw at them. He’d been too absorbed by his own research to share his research with the only other human being he’d ever met with the same passion for mystery as himself. It wasn’t until Dipper quite literally fell through the ceiling with his favourite game that Ford finally decided to actually spend time with his own family members.

Then, he’d given the twins the power to manipulate and control anyone they wanted to their own free will. He’d handed over the mind-control tie without a second thought. For all he knew, the kids could have ended up causing someone serious harm with it. He’d seen what had almost happened to the kids as a result of his careless actions - they nearly _died,_ had nearly been blown to kingdom come by a ton of dynamite. That was a horrifically gruesome way to go - something Ford wouldn’t wish upon his worst enemies. Yet he’d almost sent his own family to that fate. Ford had been careless, indifferent and it had almost cost the kids - and others - their lives. He’d sent Mabel on a quest for unicorn hair in order to protect the shack, during which she was almost crushed under her own self-hatred, believing the creature’s cold lies. Mabel had truly believed she was a terrible person and it had broken her heart. It almost broke Ford’s too, seeing his great niece in such a state of self-hatred.

The biggest thing, of course, was causing the apocalypse. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that that was Ford’s biggest mistake, his most significant screw-up. He’d damn near ended the world. He’d single-handedly brought about the apocalypse. He was the only one to blame. He had been the one to summon Bill in the first place, ignoring all of the ancient warnings. He had brought the demon to Gravity Falls and he couldn’t even take him out again. In the end, Stan’s huge sacrifice was the only reason any of the townsfolk - or the rest of this dimension, for that matter - were still alive. Without that, Ford, the kids, and the rest of the world’s population would be dead. Ford couldn’t even fix his own mistakes. His brother had to fix them for him since Ford was too useless to do it himself.

Stanley was still suffering. He struggled to remember the simplest things, like the twins’ names or where he lived. The state of his memory fluctuated drastically, too. One day, he would almost be back to himself, then the next he would be back at square one, cluelessly wandering around, wondering where he was and who he was. It never got any easier for Ford to hear the kids’ voices, trying to encourage their Grunkle to remember them, to remember _himself._ It only got more difficult as the days went on. There’d be times when Ford’s hopes would really soar, finding that Stan was remembering so much about his life. Then there’d be times where everything would fall apart again, leaving Stan remembering almost nothing and the kids devastated.

Whenever this happened, Ford would lock himself in his room for _days_ , unable to face the reality of what was happening. The fact that this was all his fault was too much to bear. He couldn’t face his family - they knew full well who was to blame for all of this. Ford believed that the best thing he could do under these circumstances was to remove himself from the picture entirely. The kids were struggling just as much as Stanley was and having the man responsible for this around would only make things so much worse.

When the kids eventually went home, Stanley seemed to be doing just fine. Ford managed to leave his room on occasion to check on his brother. He was always incredibly nervous about doing so. What if all of Ford’s mistakes were the only things Stanley remembered about him? What if Stanley had no idea who he was at all and demanded to know? What if Stanley remembered everything and knew whose fault his amnesia was and turned on him? Ford would only ask a few simple questions - are you okay, do you know where/who you are, what do you remember last - and then he’d retreat again. Ford tried to spend as little time with Stan as possible, trying to avoid reminding him of all of his mistakes.

As a result of his seclusion, Ford was barely eating, if at all. He’d been skinny, to begin with, after spending thirty years with no stable diet, but now he was on the verge of emaciation. He hadn’t had anything to eat since he’d come back - he’d forgotten to eat for the first few days, then Weirdmageddon had struck, making a meal seem like a distant memory. He would occasionally try to sneak a slice of bread or an apple here or there, nowhere near enough to sustain his health. He would never allow himself to eat up any leftovers Stan had cooked, or to make a meal for himself. He couldn’t bring himself to spend his brother’s hard-earned money on himself. That would make him selfish, and Ford didn’t want to be selfish ever again.

As the days passed since the end of the summer, Ford began to think more and more about how the town, and his family, would be better without him. Stanley would have never had to spend so much money paying off Ford’s student loans and paying to keep the portal maintained. The electricity bills for Ford’s lab were through the roof and Stan had been paying for them for _thirty years._ That added up to well over a few million dollars. That was more money than Ford could ever hope to earn in a lifetime with his research. Stan would be financially so much better off if he’d never had to pay for everything in Ford’s absence. They were Ford’s bills, he should have taken care of them himself.

The kids had been permanently scarred by everything they’d seen this summer. There was no doubt about that. They had been having nightmares during the few nights between Weirdmageddon ending and going home. Ford had heard them wake up abruptly more than once in the middle of the night. He’d heard Stan immediately go into their room and comfort them. Every time, Ford had stayed in his room. There was no question as to what their nightmares were about… or who was the cause of them. He felt so awful for scaring the kids like this. He had messed their minds up, destroyed their sanity, possibly permanently, as a result of his selfishness.

Ford’s fingernails dug into his scalp, scratching the skin. Tears leaked from his eyes, trickling gently down his face and dropping onto his knees. His teeth were gritted so hard they felt as though they would shatter. His body shook with suppressed sobs, his silent cries breaking free in a strangled gasp. All he’d ever done was ruin people’s lives. There was no doubt that the whole _universe_ would be far better off without him in it. He wanted more than anything to apologize, to make up for everything, to try to fix this mess. He knew nobody would care to listen to him, to accept his help. He knew he’d just make everything so, so much worse. Ford found himself bringing his legs up onto the sofa, sitting cross-legged. He bent right forward, his face buried in his hands, and sobbed.

—–

In the middle of the night, Ford sat bolt upright with a gasp, drenched in cold sweat. His heart pounded in his chest. He was panting and trembling violently. He felt sick. He brought one hand up to his face, wiping the tears from his cheeks. That was the seventh nightmare he’d had since the kids had gone home. They were getting worse and worse as time went on. The first one seemed almost trivial compared to this one. In the first one, he’d been standing at the edge of the Shack, watching as the building itself and everything inside it burned to the ground. He’d been unable to move, unable to look away, as he heard his family scream. He could hear their bloodcurdling wails suddenly be cut short as the Shack collapsed in a pile of smoldering embers.

This time, it was far, far worse. He’d been back in the Fearamid, chained up like a cruel man’s beaten, abused pet. He could barely stand on his own two feet. He’d been forced to watch as, one by one, the lives of his family and his friends were taken away right before his eyes by Bill. He’s screamed and begged for them to be let go. Bill had ignored his requests, finding some sort of sick pleasure in seeing Ford scream and cry. Ford had tugged at the chains keeping him bound with all of his remaining strength. He’d fallen to the floor, unable to get up.

He’d been forced to listen as his family’s voices echoed around him. Cursing him. Berating him. _Blaming him._

_“If you weren’t so selfish, none of this would have ever happened!”_

_“Dangerous freak!”_

_“Monster!”_

_“Idiot!”_

_“Screw-up!”_

Ford sat on the sofa, pulling the blanket around his shivering shoulders. The voices still echoed in his mind, even now. They reminded him of everything awful he’d ever done. Abandoning his family. Building the portal. Ignoring Fiddleford’s warnings. Causing the apocalypse. Permanently traumatizing the kids. They really were better off without him, weren’t they?

Ford took a deep breath, an idea settling into his mind. The best thing he could do for the town, for his brother, would be to leave. To leave and never come back. That way, he would never be able to hurt anyone ever again. He wouldn’t be around to make Stanley’s life miserable. He didn’t deserve to still be living with a roof over his head. He didn’t deserve to be anywhere near another human being. Stanley would be so much happier without his worthless, know-it-all screw-up of a twin brother around. The kids wouldn’t have to worry about whether or not their insane great uncle would do something that could end the world. The townsfolk wouldn’t have to be concerned as to what the madman in the Mystery Shack was doing. Ford felt disgusted that he’d already stayed this long.

Taking another few deep breaths to calm his nerves, Ford slid his glasses onto his nose and got up. He folded the blanket neatly on the sofa and pulled his boots onto his feet. He looked over at the small desk in the room. His blaster sat in its holster on the desk, untouched. Ford’s immediate instinct was to take it with him, but he shook the thought away. What if he got spooked by something and fired, only to hit an innocent person? He could never live with himself if he wounded someone due to his own paranoia.

He could barely live with himself, to begin with.

Ford pulled his ratty old trench coat on over his shoulders, emptying his pockets onto the desk. There wasn’t much - a few dollar notes, some spare coins, a pencil and a walkie talkie. Ford had no idea how the walkie talkie got there, but he knew it would be best if he cut off all forms of contact with anyone else. What was the point of leaving if someone could easily just contact him with that? He made sure all of his pockets were empty before stepping quietly over to the door and putting a hand on the doorknob. He held his breath, listening for any sign of movement from upstairs. Nothing. Carefully, Ford opened the door and stepped out into the hallway.

Moonlight streamed in through the window set into the door. As gently as possible, Ford closed the bedroom door behind him and walked down the hall towards the door. He fumbled with the door key to unlock it, flinching as the keys chimed in his trembling fingers. He managed to get the door unlocked and stepped outside into the cold night air. He closed the door behind him and locked it again, before pushing the keys through the letterbox. They hit the doormat with a soft clunk. Ford took another deep breath and turned away from the Shack, heading towards the heart of the woods. He took one final glance over his shoulder before walking into the trees and disappearing amongst the shadows.

—-

Stanley woke up at eight thirty the next morning, slowly sitting up in bed. His back cracked as he straightened himself up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Man, he was old. He shoved his glasses onto his face and got up, feeling his various joints and bones ache and creak in protest. He headed across the hall from his bedroom into the upstairs bathroom, intent on taking a shower. A quarter of an hour later, he was sitting at the table in the kitchen, easing his way through a steaming cup of coffee and a mountain of toast. He finished breakfast and put his dishes in the sink. He looked outside into the parking lot to see that a tour bus was just arriving. He grinned. Tourists meant money. He put his fez on his head and walked into the gift shop to greet them.

Stan took a break at around lunchtime, allowing the tourists to explore the gift shop before his next tour at 2:00. As he made himself some sandwiches, something popped into his mind. Ford had always had a terrible habit of ignoring basic health requirements such as eating whenever he was busy. Stan sighed inwardly, realizing he’d forgotten about his brother all morning. He made up another plate of sandwiches and headed towards Ford’s bedroom.

Stan knocked on the door. “Hey, Poindexter, you in there?”

He was met with silence. Stan knocked again before letting himself in. His brother’s room was neat, far too neat for Ford. His blanket was folded neatly on the bed and his books were stacked in a concise pattern based on authors’ surnames. The only thing that seemed out of place was Ford’s blaster. Stan remembered that Ford carried it in a holster on his hip at all times. The man frowned. Perhaps Ford had forgotten to pick it up? Or maybe he’d decided that nothing in Gravity Falls was worth carrying a weapon for.

Stanley shrugged and headed towards the vending machine. Maybe Ford was in his study, or down in the lab. He’d have to send him some lunch when the gift shop was empty. He couldn’t risk going into the lab with the gift shop full of customers. He left the plate of sandwiches in the kitchen and headed back into the gift shop.

—

At around seven, Stan had finally managed to clear out the gift shop and the rest of the cars in the car park left. Sighing in relief and taking the fez off his head, Stan ran a hand through his hair and headed back into the kitchen. He shrugged out of his blazer and grabbed the plate of sandwiches he’d made earlier. He headed to the vending machine, punched in the code and headed down to Ford’s study.

The elevator shuddered to a halt and Stan got out. He knocked on the door to Ford’s study, hoping that his brother was in there. “Hey, Poindexter!”

He waited all of ten seconds before opening the door and walking inside. The room was a mess. Papers strewn everywhere, pens, spilled bottles of ink. Images of Bill covered the walls, sloppily covered by tarps and papers. Stan cringed. He kept his head turned away as he looked around the room. Ford was nowhere to be found. Concern started settling in Stan’s stomach as he headed back to the elevator and moved down to the lab. He didn’t bother knocking this time, marching inside. For the third time today, he couldn’t find Ford anywhere.

With a sigh, Stanley made his way back upstairs and set the sandwiches down in the kitchen, covering them with a food net to keep the flies off. He looked at the clock. 7:20pm. It was starting to get dark outside. Maybe Ford was out doing research on a new type of creature? Maybe he’d gone on a walk? Stan rubbed the back of his neck. He knew that Ford was more than capable of looking after himself, with or without a blaster, but he couldn’t shake off the worry he was feeling. What if Ford was lost? What if he was hurt?

Stanley took a deep breath to get himself to relax. Wherever Ford was, he was probably fine. Stan was overreacting. He grabbed some food and took a seat down on the couch, allowing himself to relax. He stayed up until about ten when he decided he was too tired to wait for Ford to come back. He left the lights on downstairs and went upstairs to bed.

—-

Ford continued to stumble through the woods. He’d walked for hours, until daylight, before he’d decided to sit down and rest for a moment. He had ended up falling asleep underneath a tree and had woken up maybe an hour ago. It was getting dark again, indicating he’d been asleep for almost twelve hours. Guilt continued to build up in his stomach. He had wanted to get as far away from everyone as possible, as fast as possible, and he’d just flat-out wasted twelve hours. He was severely malnourished - he was weak and wasn’t entirely sure how he’d been able to keep moving this long.

His body was a wreck. He’d been injured severely during Weirdmageddon and those injuries still had to be seen to. He had severe electrical burns on his wrists, ankles and around his neck. He had countless lacerations and bruises all over his body, a result of the torment Bill had put him through. He suspected he had a hairline fracture in one of his legs - it was painful to walk on and it was causing him to limp. At least one of his ribs were broken, brushing against his lungs and causing his breath to come in strained gasps.

He ducked under some low-hanging branches, feeling some of the smaller twigs scrape his face and knock his glasses crooked. He let out a sharp, bitter bark of laughter. Even the fucking trees were hurting him. It was almost as if Gravity Falls itself despised him as much as its residents. Still, Ford kept moving. He had no idea where he was going, how far he’d moved or how long he’d been moving for, but he had to keep going. Walking was the only thing that would keep him far away from anybody he could hurt.

Ford stopped, hearing something growl in the bushes off to his left. He turned, his hand automatically reaching for the blaster that he knew was no longer there. He’d left it behind. He’d left himself defenseless, knowing he didn’t deserve the chance to defend himself from harm. Why should he, after he caused so much harm to so many innocent people? He braced himself for whatever was there.

A young dragon-like creature jumped out of the bushes, teeth bared in a menacing snarl. Ford threw up his right arm to defend himself. The beast clamped its jaws shut around Ford’s arm, causing the man to cry out and jerk his arm away. The dragon came with it, thrashing and tugging at Ford’s arm. The sharp teeth easily tore through his clothing and punctured the skin, causing the fabric to stain red with blood. Ford fought against the beast’s grip, eventually managing to shake the dragon free. It landed on the ground with a yelp. Ford stumbled backward, landing roughly on his backside with his glasses falling from his face and landing in the damp grass. He quickly grabbed hold of his glasses and scrambled to his feet, making a move to run.

The dragon pounced, managing to close its jaws shut around the hem of Ford’s jacket. It tugged and pulled furiously. Ford pulled his arms back, managing to shrug out of the tattered garment and he sprinted off, his body running on adrenaline and nothing else. The beast stumbled backward, its body being covered by Ford’s jacket. With the creature temporarily stunned, Ford sprinted as fast as he could with his injured leg, crashing through the undergrowth and running through a nearby stream to try and throw the predator off his scent. He ignored the agonizing protests his injuries gave him. His breath came in strangled gasps, his starved body unable to produce the energy he needed to go any faster. His head began to spin after running for a mile or so. His jacket was long forgotten, leaving him in dirty black trousers and a torn, blood-spotted turtleneck.

Only when Ford was sure he wasn’t being followed any more, he allowed his pace to slow into a gentle, exhausted trudge. He panted heavily. His chest heaved, trying to replenish the lost oxygen in his lungs. His throat burned and his eyes watered. He stopped altogether, bracing himself up against a tree to catch his breath properly. Eventually, his head stopped spinning and his lungs no longer ached. The adrenaline from his system faded, leaving him weak and worn out. He shook off the fatigue and kept walking. His leg throbbed agonizingly and he was certain he’d made the injury worse by running.

As his tired feet carried him through the forest, Ford looked down at his injured arm. The fabric of his sleeve had been torn away, revealing the injury that lay beneath. The flesh was torn and ragged and still bleeding slightly. It would definitely need tending to at a hospital. Ford let out a bitter laugh. That would be if anybody would care to help him after everything he’s ever done. There were people in the hospital _because_ of his selfish actions. There was no way anybody was going to help him. He couldn’t see the point in heading to a hospital anyway. What did anyone care if he died in these woods? They were all so much better off without him anyway.

——

Stanley awoke bright and early the next morning. He didn’t care that it was only a little past six A.M; he had to make sure his brother was okay. He practically leaped out of bed and down the stairs, eager to see if Ford had made it home safely. When he got downstairs, however, he found all of the lights still on and the plate of sandwiches on the table, untouched. Stan checked Ford’s room again, finding it in the same state it had been in yesterday, all of Ford’s possessions in the same place. There was no note, either, as to where Ford might have gone. Stanley’s heart sunk. Evidently, Ford had decided against getting some sleep, if he’d even made it back at all.

He has to be here, Stan thought as he rushed towards the vending machine. He checked the study and the lab, not finding Ford in either location. There was absolutely no sign of him at all. He started to panic. Ford had likely been outside for twenty-four hours now - he had to have been lost, possibly hurt. There was no other explanation as to where his brother could be. Stanley rushed back upstairs to the telephone. He practically ripped the phone off its stand and dialed Soos first, clutching the phone in sweaty hands.

It took a moment before Stan heard Soos’ groggy, tired response. _“Mr. Pines? What’s up? You never phone this early.”_

“Sorry,” Stan apologized quickly. “But I’ve got bigger problems right now, Soos. Ford’s gone missing.”

 _“What?!”_ Stan flinched away from the phone at Soos’ surprised shout. _“Aw man, that ain’t good. Do you have any idea where he might be?”_

“No!” Stan exclaimed, running a hand through his hair. “His room’s empty, the study is empty, the lab’s empty. There’s no note, no message, nothing! I didn’t see him at all yesterday.”

_“When was the last time you saw him?”_

Stan’s fingers tugged at his hair. “I-I don’t know! L-last week, maybe? He’s been avoiding me like the plague.”

 _“Guess he feels sorta guilty ‘bout, y’know, almost destroying the town ‘n stuff, huh?”_ Soos frowned, scratching the back of his head. _“Maybe, maybe… uh… he went to go and try and help?”_

Stan chewed his lower lip and shook his head. “He hasn’t gone out in public on his own since Weirdmageddon. He’d always go with either me or one of the twins at least. The whole town hates his guts.”

 _“Poor guy,”_ Soos murmured. _“No wonder he feels awful.”_

Stan didn’t respond. He wasn’t going to admit that he partially thought Ford deserved it. His brother did pretty much cause the apocalypse, and he hadn’t exactly been a perfect family member before that. Instead of voicing these thoughts, Stan took a deep breath. “Can you help me find him?”

_“Sure thing Mr. Pines. Do you want me to get other people involved too?”_

“If you can, that’d be great. I owe ya one, Soos.”

 _“You owe me nothing, Mr. Pines,”_ Soos insisted. _“You’re a real great guy and I’d do anything to help out my friends.”_

Stan couldn’t help but grin. “Thanks, Soos. Meet me outside the Shack once you’re done, okay?”

 _“Will do!”_ Soos hung up the phone. The receiver went silent and Stan immediately began dialing Wendy’s number.

The redhead was less than pleased with being woken up so early. _“Urgh, Stan, what is it? It’s not even eight in the morning,”_

“You can get the rest of your beauty sleep later, Ford’s gone missing,” Stan replied.

Wendy muttered _“thank God”_ under her breath before she could stop herself.

Stan’s eyes narrowed and he clenched his free hand into a fist at his side. “What was that? Thank God?!”

Wendy cringed at the venom in her boss’s voice. _“Yikes, Stan, calm down. I mean, the guy_ did _singlehandedly destroy the town.”_

“That was Bill, not my brother!” Stan snapped. “Look, I don’t care how much you hate him. He’s missing. I need help looking for him and unless you want to spend the next year at your cousin’s logging camp, you’d better get your ass down here ASAP.”

Wendy groaned. _“Stan, you’re overreacting. He probably just went out for a walk or something.”_

“He’s barely left the house since Weirdmageddon. He won’t go into town without someone with him. The townsfolk hate him.” Stan explained. “I’m seriously worried he’s gonna get himself hurt, or worse.”

Wendy sat up in bed. _“Alright, give me an hour to get down there.”_

“Thank you. Try and get as many other people involved as you can.” Stanley said. “Try heading over to McGucket’s place. Ford and he used to be friends, maybe he’ll help.”

 _“Will do,”_ Wendy hung up the phone and went to get ready.

Sure enough, an hour later, Stanley was standing outside the Shack, facing the parking lot. Standing opposite him were Soos, Wendy, Fiddleford McGucket, and Gideon. Stan frowned. “Nobody else wanted to help?”

McGucket took his hat off and scratched his head. “Well uh, ya see, the thing is…”

“Most of the town told us to get lost,” Wendy crossed her arms. “Seems you were right about them hating Ford.”

Stan ran a hand through his hair. “Great. Well, we are what we are. Ford’s been gone for ages now, so we can’t waste any more time. Everyone grab a walkie talkie, a flashlight and a bag of supplies and let’s get going.” He gestured to the pile of supplies on the porch of the Shack. Each person took a flashlight, a walkie-talkie and a backpack full of food, water, and medical supplies.

Stan gestured to the area behind the Shack. “Soos, you take the West, Wendy, you go North. Gideon, you search the town. Fiddleford, you can take the East and I’ll go South, got it?”

The group nodded.

“Right,” Stan rubbed his hands together before collecting his own supplies. “Don’t hesitate to contact me if you find anything.”

With that, they each went their separate ways. Soos wandered around to the back of the Shack and started searching. Wendy headed North and Fiddleford went East. Gideon disappeared down the main road towards the town. Stan stepped over a cluster of rocks and headed South. Soon, the Shack, the road and the town blended into the trees and Stan was left utterly alone. Worry boiled in his stomach. What if Ford had gone much farther than any of them could reach on foot? What if he was seriously hurt somewhere, bleeding out with no chance of making it to a hospital in time? What if he was already dead?

Stan shuddered. He couldn’t afford to think like that. Ford had to be out there somewhere. He knew that his brother was still alive. He didn’t know _how_ he knew, he just did. Ever since they were little kids, they’d both been able to tell, from pure instinct alone, whether or not the other twin was in trouble. This helped Stan out a lot when it came to saving his brother from bullies. He just hoped that forty years of separation hadn’t dwindled that ability. He could almost feel it in his gut that Ford was still alive.

Stan just hoped he’d find him soon.

—-

After nearly a full day of walking, Stan could hear Soos’ voice through the walkie talkie. _“Mr. Pines! You’d better come quickly! I found something!”_

Stan immediately started running towards the West. He fished the walkie talkie out of the holder on his belt and pressed down on the button. “Soos?! What is it?! Have you found him?!”

 _“Uhh, not exactly,”_ The uncertainty in his voice sent a chill down Stan’s spine.

“I’m on my way. Where are you?”

_“Just past the river by the cliffs,”_

Stanley looked up at the gap between the trees, seeing that the sky was beginning to darken. He cursed and kept moving. It took maybe half an hour for Stan to reach the river. He was out of breath and panting heavily. He found Soos standing in a clearing next to the flow of water. “What’s… what’s… up…?”

Soos swallowed and pointed to something lying on the ground beside the river. Stan’s eyes widened and his heart skipped a beat as he saw what it was. It was Ford’s coat. One of the sleeves was almost torn clean off and it was soaked in blood. The bottom of the coat looked as though something had bitten down on it and tugged furiously. Stan fell to his knees in the grass, holding the garment in his hands. The blood was almost dry, indicating that the injury had occurred a little while ago. Stan’s pulse rapidly increased. That wasn’t good. It meant Ford was hurt and alone somewhere in the woods, far from medical help.

“Oh shit,” Stan murmured. “We’ve gotta find him!” He scrambled to his feet and made a move to cross the river, but felt Soos’ hand on his arm, stopping him. He whirled around. “What are you waiting for?!”

Soos pointed up at the sky. “It’s getting dark, we can’t keep going. It’s too dangerous to look for him in the dark.”

“He’s _hurt_ , Soos!” Stan snapped. “He could _die!”_

“We have almost no hope of finding him in the dark!” Soos countered. “It would be best if we wait until it gets light and then keep looking!”

Stan let out a heavy sigh. “Okay, but I’m going as soon as the sun rises.”

“I’ll be right with you Mr. Pines,” Soos grinned.

—

Ford stirred slightly, feeling something brush against his cheek. His eyes snapped open, fearing it was a predator. He let out a shaky breath, noticing it was just a leaf falling onto his face from the tree above. He tried to push himself up from where he was laying - the top half of his body propped up against the trunk behind him - but he couldn’t find the strength to do so. He let himself lie back again, his injured right arm lying uselessly at his side. It had stopped bleeding by now but it still ached tremendously. His sleeve was stained red with blood from the wrist to up past his elbow. The turtleneck was ruined.

Ford laughed humorlessly. Yet another thing he’d ruined.

He scrubbed at his eyes, feeling more tears leak down his face. He was sick of crying. It just showed how damn pathetic and useless he really was. Had his father been here, he would have told Ford to man up and get over it. To stop being such a wimp. To stop being so weak. To stop being such a _screw-up_. Ford choked a sob back, covering his mouth with his left hand. His right arm hurt too much to use.

It had been over forty-eight hours since he’d first left the Shack. He had no idea how far he’d gone or in which general direction (he kept taking odd turns in the hope of getting as lost as possible), and he was more certain than ever now that nobody was going to come and look for him. He was certain his brother was getting on just fine, if not better, without Ford there to ruin things for him. His stomach growled loudly. Ford wrapped his good arm around his stomach. The hunger burned at him, breaking him down from the inside. His head was spinning and his face felt hot. Ford shuddered a little, realizing that the injuries from Weirdmageddon had likely become infected, resulting in a fever. He was trembling and his skin felt tight around his body.

Ford coughed, the action tearing his throat up. Definitely an infection. He put the back of his left hand to his forehead. He felt uncomfortably warm. He attempted to curl up to preserve body heat, but his broken ribs flared up in agony and he let out a sharp hiss. He laid there beneath the tree helplessly. He couldn’t get up - he was far too weak. He coughed again, his eyes watering. Ford sniffled a little bit. Another sob bubbled up in his throat and he covered his mouth. Nobody was going to come and find him. He was going to die alone in this forest, be it from infection, starvation, dehydration, blood loss or otherwise. Nobody was he going to find his body - he would be picked apart by scavenging predators, leaving nothing but his tattered clothes, glasses, and bones behind. He was too far away from anyone to ever be found.

More tears flowed down his cheeks as Ford was drowned by his own thoughts. He had destroyed the town. He had brought a murderous, psychotic demon to the town. He’d killed many, many people in countless other dimensions. He’d rejected his brother. He’d hurt the twins. He didn’t deserve to be found. Ever since Weirdmageddon had ended, Ford had wanted more than anything to apologize for everything. Of course, the town had turned their backs on him. They’d exiled him, just like Ford had exiled his brother. Ford didn’t deserve to be forgiven for all of this. Maybe it was just the delirium talking, but Ford almost wanted to die alone here, somewhere where he couldn’t harm anybody else.

Ford looked up at the sky. It was just changing from a pale orange-pink color to a pale blue. He guessed it must be about ten in the morning. That made it fifty-six hours since he had left the Shack. Fifty-six hours of the town not having to deal with him any longer. Fifty-six hours of Stanley being free from the burden of his useless older twin. Ford laid his head back to look up at the sky, more tears running down his face. He laughed bitterly. He’d made so many mistakes in his life; this was the universe finally giving him what he deserved. His vision began to swim as he felt the fatigue, anaemia and fever begin to take over.

_“Ford?!”_

Ford blinked. What was that? He could have sworn he heard something. He wasn’t sure if this was the delirium causing him to hallucinate. Had he really just heard someone calling his name? No, he couldn’t have. Nobody in their right mind would ever come looking for him.

_“Ford? Poindexter, where are you?!”_

Ford frowned. That sounded like Stanley. Now he was sure he was dreaming. He knew Stanley was better off without him. There was no logical reason as to why Stan would come looking for him.

Ford heard something moving through the trees and undergrowth towards him. He heard another shout and then running footsteps. To his right, his brother came crashing through the trees and towards him.

“FORD!” Stan cried in relief. He approached his brother, panting heavily. He knelt beside Ford, taking in his brother’s battered state. Ford looked _awful._ He was incredibly skinny. His face looked thin and his cheeks were sunken. His right arm was torn and bloodied. One of his legs was laid out in front of him at an awkward angle. Ford’s face was covered in small scratches and bruises. He was sweating and his cheeks were red, indicating a fever. His eyes were puffy and bloodshot, a few stray tears still resting on his cheeks. As Stan gasped heavily to get his breath back, he saw Ford look away and pull his legs in.

“What are you doing here?” Ford murmured quietly.

Stan’s eyes widened and his mouth fell open. “What…? Ford, what do you mean ‘why am I here’? You’re my brother and you went missing. Of course I was going to come and look for you.”

Ford refused to look at his brother. “Why…? I thought you’d be better off without me.”

Stan felt his heart skip a beat. He swallowed the protests rising in his throat. “Why d’you think that?”

Ford turned further away. Tears burned in his eyes. He felt another sob escape his throat. And then, all at once, everything came pouring out of him. He threw himself at his brother, wrapping his arms around him and sobbing harshly. “I-I’m so sorry. I know I j-just ruined everything and I’m s-so s-sorry Stanley!”

Stanley was started for a moment. He hadn’t expected his brother to react like this. “What…?”

“I understand wh-why you all hate me and I’m s-sorry! I d-don’t deserve to be forgiven and I kn-know that.” Ford’s words were punctuated with harsh, gasping sobs. He buried his face in his brother’s shoulder. A small part of his brain was shouting at him, telling him he was only irritating his brother by doing this, but by now it was too late. The dam had broken.

Stan wrapped his arms around his brother in return, frowning. “What…? Ford, I don’t hate you. Where on Earth did you get that idea from?”

“You’ve d-done so much for me and I j-just ignored you. All you’v-ve ever d-done is help me and I j-just hurt y-you,” Ford sobbed. “You’re s-so much better off w-without me.”

“Ford.” Stan’s voice turned cold and he pushed his brother away, grabbing his shoulders and holding him up. “I do _not_ hate you. I don’t. I don’t know why you’d think that. You’re my _twin_ , Ford. I love you. I know you’ve messed up, but you tried to fix it. _That’s_ what is important. The apocalypse was _not_ your fault. None of this was. No matter what, I would not be better off without you.”

“Y-yeah you would,” Ford sniffled, tears still dripping down his cheeks. “You w-wouldn’t have to worry ‘bout me screwing things up.”

Stanley pulled his brother forward into a hug. He could feel Ford trembling with repressed sobs again. He rubbed small circles on his brother’s back with his palm. He laid his chin on top of Ford’s head. Ford shakily wrapped his arms around Stan in return, shaking again.

Stanley had another look over Ford’s injuries. The most significant seemed to be the injured arm. Ford had a fever, indicating that his wound had become infected. He slung Ford’s good arm around his shoulders and helped his brother to his feet. He was concerned to find out how little Ford weighed. He had to be severely underweight. He sighed quietly. Ford had been starving himself. There was no way he’d lost this much weight since he’d gone missing. This had to have been going on for a while.

Ford leaned against Stan for support, limping slightly with his injured leg. He held his injured arm close to his body as they walked. Stanley led them back through the woods towards the town. Fear rose up in Ford’s stomach. If they were going near the town, that meant that the townsfolk would see him. It was no secret how much the town hated him. He found himself walking more slowly on purpose, delaying the inevitable.

A little while later, the trees thinned out and the town came into view. Parked by the side of the road was Soos in his pickup truck. He waved as the pair came into view. “Mr. Pines! You got him!”

Stan flashed him the thumbs up, grinning. His grin fell as he felt Ford pull away and take a step backward. He turned to face him, finding Ford with his arms wrapped around himself and his shoulders hunched over. Ford looked terrified. Stan took a step towards him. “Ford?”

Ford swallowed and looked away. “I c-can’t … can’t go with you.”

Stan stood in front of him and put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay. We’re going to get you to the hospital and we’ll get you fixed up, okay?”

“N-no-one’s going to help me, not after what I did. They all hate me. They _shouldn’t_ help me.” Ford murmured, avoiding the sad look in Stan’s eyes.

Stan put an arm around Ford’s shoulders, guiding him to the pickup truck. “That’s why we’re going out of town to a hospital. The one in Gravity Falls is barely a doctor’s surgery. Come on,”

“It’s okay, Dr. Pines,” Soos called gently. “C’mon, we’ll get you all healed up,”

Ford didn’t say anything, allowing himself to be led to the truck. Stan helped him inside and sat with him in the back seats, keeping one arm around him protectively. Soos started the engine and headed up the main road towards the town border.

Ford’s stomach growled loudly enough for the others to hear. Stan cast him a worried glance out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t say anything as Soos drove them towards the hospital. Every so often, the car would hit a bump in the road, eliciting a sharp gasp of pain from Ford. They drove in silence, not even Soos saying anything. The usually cheery handyman didn’t speak. He kept looking in the rear-view mirror at the twins in the back, taking in Ford’s neglected state. He looked horrendous.

Soon, the truck pulled into the parking lot of the hospital. Stan helped Ford out of the car, keeping Ford’s good arm around his shoulders to keep him upright. He helped Ford towards the entrance. Once inside, Ford was helped onto a hospital bed and towards the OR. Exhaustion took over and he passed out on the bed. Stan’s cries fell silent as he succumbed to fatigue.

Stan was left with Soos in the waiting room. Stan noticed that his hands were stained with blood. He got up, heading towards the bathrooms to clean up. Soos sat there, staring at his feet, waiting for Stan to come back. He pulled out his phone and texted Wendy to keep himself occupied.

_Soos: Found Dr. Pines. It doesn’t look good_

It didn’t take long for the redhead to check her phone and send a response. As much as she disliked Ford, she couldn’t help but feel bad for the guy. He was obviously incredibly guilty about everything that had happened.

_**Wendy: Thank God you found him. How bad is it?** _

_Soos: He’s really thin like he hasn’t eaten in weeks. One of his arms is really badly bitten and it’s all bloody and stuff. I’m pretty sure one of his legs is broken too - he kept limping._

_**Wendy: What about Stan? Is he okay?** _

_Soos: … I dunno, dude. He’s like really freaked out. He’s real worried and I think he’s scared, too._

_**Wendy: Where are you?** _

_Soos: Over in Robson General Hospital. We couldn’t take him to the one in Gravity Falls - he’s scared everyone hates him_

_**Wendy: That’s not far from the truth. I’ll be there in an hour. Wait for me** _

_Soos: Sure thing, dude, see ya!_

Soos put his phone back in his pocket to see Stan coming back. He noticed Stan had cleared the blood off his hands and, by the looks of things, attempted to clean it off his clothes, too. “Wendy’s on her way over here, Mr. Pines.”

Stan nodded, releasing a deep breath. He sat down in the seat next to Soos, his back cracking and aching. He picked at a stray thread sticking out of his trousers. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice anything.”

“Dude, don’t blame yourself over this,” Soos said quietly, putting a hand on Stan’s shoulder. “This wasn’t your fault.”

Stan ran a hand through his hair. “He ran away, Soos, and didn’t even leave a note. He hasn’t talked to me since the apocalypse ended. I should have checked on him. If only I’d known, I would have done something. I was just so damn angry with him, I had no idea it was this bad. I didn’t realize he felt so shit about himself.”

“None of us did,” Soos said. “I’ve been like, really awkward around him too. I never said anything to him. I guess I sorta felt mad about what happened.”

Stan frowned. “I just wish I’d _said something_ to him. Maybe he wouldn’t have run off if I’d just talked to him.”

Soos opened his mouth to talk, but the arrival of a nurse stopped him. The nurse gestured for Soos and Stan to follow him. “You came here with Stanford Pines, correct?”

“Yeah, is he okay?” Stan asked.

The nurse took a deep breath. He showed the two visitors into a small office. A doctor was waiting inside for them. The doctor gestured for Stan and Soos to take a seat opposite her. Stan sat down, Soos next to him, as the doctor opened up a file. The nurse left the room. Stan bit his lip nervously. “Is my brother okay?”

The doctor frowned. “I’m afraid his injuries were far more severe than we first thought. As he was being cleaned ready for surgery, the surgeons noticed that he had a number of infected lacerations across his body. He has severe electrical burns around his throat, his wrists and his ankles, which are also infected. The injury on his arm was at least twenty-four hours old. There was a lot of infection running through his body. He has been put on strong antibiotics. Two of his ribs were cracked and he has a hairline fracture in his right femur.”

Stan covered his mouth, his stomach churning. He heard Soos murmur “oh no,” beside him. Stan swallowed the bile rising in his throat. “Will he be okay?”

The doctor nodded. “Yes. His injuries weren’t fatal and the infection should clear up within a couple of days. He is going to be confined to a hospital bed for a few weeks to allow his body to recover. However…”

Stan gulped. “What?”

The doctor scratched the back of her neck. “He has a large number of scars across his entire body. It looks as though he has been shot multiple times. Some of the scars look like they weren’t caused by any normal type of gun. Some of the scars appear to have been caused by a wild animal attack - teeth marks, claws, some which are at least half an inch in depth. Some look like chemical burns, blisters and heat burns. None of these injuries seem to have received hospital treatment. It looks as though he fixed them himself. He’s on the verge of being emaciated - he has lost around half of his healthy body weight and he is severely malnourished. He is on a drip to try and get some nutrients back into his body and he will be on a special diet for three weeks to help him gain weight.”

Stan felt as though he was about to throw up. He had to clench his jaw and squeeze his eyes shut to keep from vomiting all over the floor, the desk and himself. He took a shuddering breath and swallowed. “A-are we allowed to see him?”

“Of course. He should be awake by now.” The doctor got up and led the two men out of the office and down the hallway. She led them up a flight of stairs and through a set of double doors into a ward. She gestured to the first door on the left. “He’s just in here. Try to prevent him from getting up - he’s still very weak.”

Stan nodded his thanks and entered the room, Soos following him in. Stan froze, seeing the state his brother was in. Ford was still asleep, lying fragile in the hospital bed. He somehow looked much thinner than he had before, the bones in his body clearly visible beneath his skin. His glasses sat on the tray attached to the side of the bed. He had a cannula in the back of his left hand, hooked up to two different IVs - one for antibiotics and one for nutrients. His right arm was wrapped in thick gauze and bandaging. He had a brace on his chest and his whole leg was in a cast, suspended in the air by a frame. His face had a few small squares of gauze taped over the larger cuts on his face. Stan noticed with horror that Ford had thick bandages around his wrists and his neck, presumably to cover the electrical burns.

The bandages didn’t cover his scars, however. Ford’s arms were littered with scars. The way the doctor had described them made them seem nowhere near as bad as they were in reality. The scratch marks were deep, far too deep for simple predators. Ford had to have been attacked by something big in order to leave that kind of damage. There were patches of pale, rubbery skin where Ford had been burned by heat, any hair that had once been present long since burned clear away. Other patches of skin were webbed rivers of red and pale skin in almost scale-like patterns, caused by contact with harsh chemicals. Poisons, perhaps, from some otherworldly monster. One particular scar on Ford’s shoulder caught Stan’s eye more than the rest. It looked like a crater or a hurricane. The epicenter was perhaps half an inch in diameter and the surrounding skin was raised in ripples, resembling tidal waves. The middle was a sickening red colour, the skin having been burned badly.

Stan snapped out of his trance upon hearing Soos’ phone ring. The handyman apologized quickly and dug his phone out of his pocket, standing in the hallway to answer the call. He popped his head through the door a moment later. “Wendy’s in the waiting room. I’ll just go get her.”

Stan nodded, not taking his eyes off his brother. His hands were shaking. He reached out and engulfed Ford’s right hand in both of his own. It was far too cold. “C’mon, Sixer, wake up. You’ve got us all insanely worried about you.”

Ford didn’t respond. Stan let out a heavy sigh, leaning back in his chair. He could tell it was going to take a little while before Ford had the strength to wake up. He heard Soos and Wendy enter the room behind him. He glanced over his shoulder as they walked in. “Hey Wendy,”

“Oh my God,” Wendy murmured, taking in the sight of Ford lying in the hospital bed. “How… how did all this happen?”

Stan sighed quietly. “He’s thin and malnourished because he’s basically been starving himself. The burns around his wrists and neck were from the chains Bill held him in as he was electrocuted.” Stan felt a lump form in his throat. “The… the leg must have been from Weirdmaggedon, as where the fresh scratches. He was attacked by something in the woods, which is why his arm’s a mess. The rest… I don’t know,”

Wendy nodded a little bit, taking a seat on the windowsill as Soos sat back down next to Stan. “Hey, Stan?” The redhead asked quietly.

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry ‘bout the way I acted earlier. I would have come straight away if I knew it was this bad.” She scratched the back of her neck awkwardly, avoiding Stan’s look. “I was still super mad about the whole apocalypse thing and I should have just let it go.”

Stan sighed. “It’s alright. I was mad too. I avoided Ford when I should have just talked to him.”

“Dudes, let’s not blame ourselves for any of this,” Soos said. “Dr. Pines never told us anything. If anything, that triangle guy is to blame, not any of us.”

Stan nodded, rubbing his thumb across Ford’s hand. He still felt awful for the way he’d treated his brother recently. He’d given Ford the cold shoulder recently after what had happened. He had wanted to forgive Ford for everything that had happened, but a small part of his brain kept telling him that what Ford had done wasn’t worth forgiving. He’d erased all of the memories from Stan’s mind and part of Stan didn’t want to forgive him for that. Stan told himself that Ford never intended to hurt Stan in any way, but he still hadn’t said anything to Ford after Weirdmageddon.

“Mr. Pines, look!” Soos pointed at the bed.

Stan blinked. He looked over at his brother to see Ford shifting slightly and murmuring. He looked back at Soos. “Uh, you’d better go. I’m pretty sure Ford thinks you guys hate him. It’s probably best if you wait outside.”

Soos and Wendy nodded quietly. They got up from their seats and headed out the room to wait outside. Soos pulled the door closed behind them.

Stan shifted slightly in his seat to face his brother properly. He squeezed Ford’s hand gently and smiled a little when he felt Ford squeeze back. “Poindexter? Can you hear me?”

Ford coughed weakly, his face scrunching up in pain before his eyes fluttered open weakly. The bright hospital lights blinded him momentarily. He blinked a few times, trying to get his eyes to focus. He felt somebody slide his glasses onto his face and suddenly everything got much clearer. He could feel someone holding his hand. He turned his head and his heart skipped a beat. “S-Stanley…?”

“I’m right here Poindexter,” Stan said softly, squeezing Ford’s hand gently. “I’m so glad you’re okay. How do you feel?”

Ford shrugged a little bit. “Tired. Sore. Nothing important.”

“You don’t feel hungry at all?” Stan prompted.

Ford tensed up and looked away. “No, I’m fine…” His stomach growled, saying otherwise.

Stan raised an eyebrow. “Ford, don’t lie to me. The doctors already told me you’re severely underweight and malnourished, so tell the truth.”

Ford swallowed hard. “I… I am kind of hungry, I guess. I don’t want anything to eat, though.”

“Why not?”

“Because it costs you money, and you’ve already given up so much just for me. I was being incredibly selfish and I’ve hurt you in so many ways. I’m sorry,” Ford felt tears pricking at the corner of his eyes again. “I shouldn’t even be here,” He lifted his right hand free from Stan’s grip and made a move to tug the IVs out of his hand. Stan grabbed his hand and pulled it away, flinching slightly as Ford hissed in pain.

“Ford, _stop it!”_ Ford looked over, stunned to hear his brother’s voice cracking. He turned his head to see Stan bent low over the bed, struggling to hold back tears of his own. “Please… stop it.”

“Stan…?” Ford frowned. “D-don’t… please. Don’t do this. You shouldn’t have to suffer because of me,”

“Then let me help you!” Stan sat up quickly and Ford could see that he had been crying. Stan wiped the back of his hand over his eyes. “Please, Ford, let me help you. It’s my fault you feel like this, and I’m so damn sorry!”

“This isn’t your fault,” Ford murmured. “I was the one to start the apocalypse. After something like that, I don’t deserve to be forgiven.”

“Yes, you do! Look, I’m sorry for the way I’ve been acting recently, I should have said something sooner. I’m sorry I made you feel like we’d be better off without you. We’re not, honestly. You’re part of our family, Ford. The kids love you. _I_ love you, knucklehead. Nothing to ever do or say will change that.”

Ford felt a lump form in his throat. He swallowed it down and coughed to clear his throat. “I… you didn’t do anything wrong, Stanley. I don’t deserve to be part of your family. All I’ve done since coming back through that portal is ruin everything. Bill could have killed the twins, killed _you_ , and it’s all my fault.”

“Stop saying that, Ford,” Stan shifted so that he was sitting on the side of Ford’s bed. “Please. It’s nobody’s fault but Bill’s, and he’s gone.”

“B-because I had to erase your mind,” Ford choked on a sob. “You didn’t remember a damn thing and it was _my_ fault.”

“Ford, it was my idea in the first place. If you hadn’t erased my mind, the twins would be dead. We had no other choice.”

“I brought Bill here in the first place. I dragged you all into that mess and I couldn’t even fix it myself. You had to pay for my stupid mistakes _again._ Even now I can’t stop h-hurting people.” Ford turned away, attempting to hide the tears in his eyes from his brother.

Stan wasn’t having any of it. He put a hand under Ford’s chin and brought his head around to face him. Ford had his teeth gritted, trying in vain to stop the tears from falling. Stan leaned forward, pulling Ford into a gentle hug. “Ford, it’s okay. We’re going to fix this. We’re going to get you all fed up, your injuries fixed and you’ll be okay.”

Ford couldn’t move either of his arms - it hurt to do so - so he simply buried his face in Stan’s shoulder, letting the tears fall freely. He trembled a little in his brother’s arms. Everything came crashing down around him. He wanted desperately to believe his brother, to believe that Stan didn’t hate him, to believe that the apocalypse wasn’t his fault, but his brain refused to accept it. He couldn’t say anything; he just lay there and sobbed.

Stan ran his fingers though Ford’s hair gently. He kept his arms around Ford. He was concerned to feel just how thin Ford really was. Stan could feel Ford’s vertebrae through the thin hospital nightgown. Ford had been starving himself for a while, hadn’t he? Stan could also feel a number of other scars on Ford’s back. He sighed inwardly. He had never realized just how much his brother had gone through during those lost thirty years. He never realized just how broken Ford really was. Stan just hoped that, now, he could try to fix him.


End file.
